


Calibrated and Compatible

by Path



Series: Barizhan Rim [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deret Beshelar and Cala Athmaza, jaeger pilots, sync to each others' minds with ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calibrated and Compatible

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme, TGE + mecha

The klaxon does not need to sound more than once to wake Lieutenant Ranger Deret Beshelar from even the deepest sleep. He is nearly to his feet before the second blast, shrugging a jumpsuit on with the automatic motions he has trained and lived for years. He spares a second to pull his hair back from his face in the severe topknot he knows won’t get in his eyes in the drivesuit helmet. Cala is just as quick to his feet- maybe even quicker- but he spares the time since he never worries about his hair. Beshelar brushes irritably at his forehead, though his hair is well out of the way. _(He can feel the lingering presence of his hair in his eyes, of his spectacles riding low on his nose)_ , no matter what steps he takes to remind himself of his own physical body.

They are out the door in seconds, he notes and approves. They do not need to try to match their footsteps despite Cala’s longer legs; they are effortlessly synchronized. _(He remembers bumping into tables and chairs as a gawky teen, bruises coating his bony knees with no memory of where they came from.)_ There is an excellent satisfaction that comes from striding down the corridor, knowing they are needed and their skills required, but also simply from the inherent power in it. Their grey and blue jumpsuits are universally recognized; workers and staff get out of their way, salute, or wave as they pass. Cala may have his mind on other things, but Deret thinks it is their due, and he appreciates it.

Into the hangar, edocharei swarming them in carefully orchestrated order; stripped down, into circuitry suit and then bolted into battle armor. Deret pulls his helmet on himself as his spinal clamp clicks into place. Relay gel blocks his vision for a moment, but it channels into the suit smoothly. He does not need to glance over to Cala, streamlined in his own dark suit, but he gives a nod to him anyhow.

Into the loading bay, feet satisfyingly heavy, notching into place in the rig as if they too, are another puzzle piece of machinery. “Welcome back, First,” comes Csevet Aisava’s voice over the comm line, clipped and businesslike. Deret can hear him flipping switches. “Any objections to the drop?”

“We are ready when you are,” Cala assures him.

Deret rolls his shoulders, adjusting back into the heft of the armor, but straightens immediately as a second voice joins Aisava’s on the line.

“All in order, Mer Aisava?” The voice is soft but determined, and Deret feels a flush of pride to hear it.

“Ready to drop, Serenity,” Aisava replies immediately, and announces over the radio, “Marshall Drazhar, on deck. Dropping in three.”

There is a rush of vertigo as the massive head rushes into place and buckles in. A few moments as infinite harnesses and plugs connect, and then it is moving, swinging through the test motions. Its core ignites.

“Fulmino Deputy ready and aligned, Serenity,” Deret reports, and is pleased to hear the Marshall’s prompt response.

“First, this is Marshall Maia Drazhar. Are you ready to engage neural handshake?” He always asks, though he should merely order it. But Deret will not dishonor him with a slow response.

“Ready,” come his and Cala’s voices in tandem.

“Ten seconds, First,” Mer Aisava reports, and begins to count down.

“Art ready?” Cala asks. His voice is oddly muted, behind the helmet, without the radio’s distortion.

“Did I not say it?” Deret asks, but the sting in his voice is amused, not offended.

“As though thou wert ever prepared for a dive in my mind,” Cala replies, mouth quirked.

“Your mind will need to be ready for _me_ ,” Deret retorts hastily, but there is no time for a better come-back, because-

“Three, two-”

The operatic tones of the computer kick in over Aisava’s last counts: “Neural handshake: initiated.”

Deret closes his eyes as the Pons set activates. He clears his mind thoroughly, as if calling it to attention, and steps into that blankness. He is falling through a blisteringly blue sky. He is face-downward, floating in scintillating water. He is-

_(He is throwing his baby sister in the air and laughing with her as she comes down. She falls slowly as a feather. His parents gasp; his mother runs to seize the baby, though he has ample time to catch her, having slowed her fall with his mind. She does not stop laughing-)_

He is accepted into the Guard and laying his cadet’s uniform out for the first time. It is crisp and severe and he puts his head down and nearly has a panic attack in fear of not living up to what it stands for-

_(He is studying in his quarters at the Mazan’theilien, layers of shabby blankets built up against the chill through the shutters. He takes his spectacles off, rubs the bridge of his nose, and stares out the window at the falling snow. Realization finally dawns in a perfect tranquil moment, and when he breathes out, the essence of magical cold exits his lips in a cloud of frost-)_

He is kissing the woman he met at the party for making Lieutenant, outside the bar. Her body presses against his, and he feels the jolt as his consciousness of it disrupts the burgeoning drift. His modesty complex always gives them a glitch… He forces through it, through stripping out of his uniform and their drunken lovemaking, through the humiliating walk home in the morning. Regret is a hot coal in his stomach, but he has seen it before and he will see it again-

 _(He is falling to his knees sick with horror at the loss, at the betrayal, at the memory of Dazhis’ lips at his throat and ear. He_ trusted _him- the shame kicks at the drift again, but he too forces through it. It is past, he thinks fervently, it is over and done. Chasing this rabbit will only make him live it again. Impressions of floating snow interpose over the memory of his collapse in the viewing bay, and he clings to them, to the cool and patient drift and fall-)_

His consciousness lurches back into his body, solid with the weight of Cala’s mind supporting it. “Neural handshake strong and holding,” Aisava says, half to the Marshall and half to them. Time to move.

“Right hemisphere calibrating,” Deret says, raising his whirling blue hand controller. He can feel Deputy’s actions- not mimicking his, but entirely his; synchronized, the same.

“Left hemisphere calibrating,” Cala echoes. The massive jaeger responds to his motions too.

They are in perfect sync. Their handshake is stable. They are ready. They are- go.


End file.
